Just One Taste
by SnarkyMuch2
Summary: Addiction isn't something you easily get over. It stays with you. Sam gives into temptation in a moment of weakness and Dean is there to cushion the fall.


The blood dripped from the knife, and Sam stared at it with longing. He licked his lips. Just one taste, that's all he wanted. How bad could that be?

The convenience store was empty. No one would see. No one would know.

His skin prickled with anticipation as he brought the knife up to his lips. His tongue darted out and touched the delicious red substance. It sent a wave of fire through him and immediately, he wanted, no needed, more.

Turning the blade, he licked the length of it. He was so completely lost in the rapture of it that he didn't hear the door open or Dean walk in.

Dean stepped into the store, and the sight that met him made his heart slam hard in his chest. Sam had the knife to his face, lips tinged red, and eyes dark. He was carefully licking the knife in his hand clean.

Dean couldn't form words as the anger in him boiled to the surface.

"Am I interrupting?" Dean snapped, finally getting his wits about him.

Sam looked up at him, eyes wide. "Dean…"

"Don't, Sam, just don't." Dean put up a hand. "You know what? I don't want to hear you talk right now. But don't let me interrupt your little blood fest. I'm going. And do me a favor, don't follow."

Sam dropped the knife as he watched Dean disappear through the door. He wanted to follow, he really did, but he couldn't make his feet move forward. He was frozen in place by his guilt.

What was he thinking? He should have known doing something so stupid would only backfire and make things worse, but the blood had looked so tempting the way it ran down the blade. He just couldn't let it go to waste.

Guiltily, he licked his lips, tasting the last vestiges of blood. He began to feel unsteady as the high washed over him. It felt good in such a bad way. There was no taking it back. What was done was done. It could have been worse though. He could have drained them dry, but he stopped himself. He held on to that, letting it assuage his guilt, even if just a little.

He picked the knife back up and headed out the door, stepping over the bodies as he went.

When he got to the street, he looked around quickly. Part of him hoped to see Dean there somewhere, but he didn't see him. He was alone.

He was torn between going after Dean and just heading out on his own. Dean had asked him to leave, and with the high he was feeling right now, he was inclined to do just that.

With one last look behind him, he turned and made his way toward a parked car. He busted the window open and reached in, unlocking it. He hopped inside and quickly got the car started.

He didn't need Dean, he decided. If Dean wanted to handle it alone, then that's what Sam was going to give him, time alone.

He pulled away from the curb and spun the car around, heading out of town.

Hours later, Sam was beginning to come down and the shakes started. First it was just his eye twitching, but soon his hands began to tremble. The little bit of blood had been just enough to set off his addiction. He was withdrawing again, and this time, he was alone.

He forced himself to stay calm as he battled the feelings assaulting him. His whole body was crawling. Even his brain itched, if that was possible.

He exited the highway at the first motel sign he saw. He ditched the car nearby and walked over to the motel.

He made his way to the office and stepped inside.

"Evening," an older gentleman wearing a blue plaid shirt said. "What can I help you with?"

"I need a room. A single please."

"Well, unfortunately, I've only got doubles left; the price is a little higher."

Sam reached for his wallet with shaky hands. "Yeah, that's fine. Whatever."

The old man looked Sam over and Sam knew he probably thought he was a junkie by the way he was shaking. He realized sadly that it wasn't far from the truth. He was a junkie of the worst kind. His addiction killed.

Sam handed the man the money and waited impatiently as he retrieved the key from the wall behind him.

"Room 13, second one from the end," the man said as he handed over the key.

"Thanks." Sam gave him a small nod and left the office.

By the time he got the room, he was beginning to sweat, and if he thought his skin was crawling before, he was wrong. Now it felt like there were worms wiggling paths through his veins. He dug at his skin, clawing and scratching, trying to alleviate the itch.

He shut and locked the door and turned on the light.

Just as he thought he had a handle on the feeling of his skin crawling and his brain itching, his stomach cramped, hard, buckling him over.

He gasped in pain. He felt like he was dying, maybe he was.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut as the pain assaulted him. He stumbled his way to the bed and lay down, drawing his knees to his chest.

xXx

"Look, I'm not going to apologize for leaving him there," Dean said plainly into the phone.

Dean could hear Bobby sigh on the other end. "And I'm not asking you to. All I'm saying is he shouldn't be alone. Addiction is a tricky thing, Dean. I get that you're upset with him, but have you even thought about how this all might've affected him?"

Dean ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I see your point."

"And it's about time. You Winchesters are all alike, stubborn to no end. Now go after your damn brother. I have a feeling he probably needs you about now if the last detox is anything to go by."

Shit. Dean hadn't even thought of the possibility Sam would try detoxing on his own.

"I've got to go, Bobby," Dean said.

"Call me if you need me." He ended the call and then quickly dialed Sam's number.

xXx

Sam's stomach contracted again painfully, and he retched over the side of the bed.

Just as he began to roll back onto his side, the phone in his pocket rang. He blinked wearily.

Struggling, he managed to reach his phone. He fumbled with the buttons, eventually hitting the right one.

"Hello," Sam tried to keep his voice level.

"Hey, where are you?" Dean asked. "We need to talk."

Another wave of pain overcame him and he drew his legs back up to his chest, gasping. The pain grew impossibly worse and he tossed his head back, gritting his teeth.

Finally, the pain subsided enough that Sam could speak again. He didn't understand why Dean was calling him. Sam had let him down. Dean had every right to never speak to him again after everything he'd done.

"I don't need your help," Sam said breathlessly.

"It's not an option, Sam. Either tell me or I'll GPS your phone. Either way, I'm coming."

Sam sighed. He didn't want to fight. He didn't have the strength. "I'm at Glenn's Motel Lodge, about fifty miles south of River Pass."

"Good. Be there soon."

Dean hoped that Sam was detoxing, but he knew the opposite was far more likely. In Dean's mind, Sam was surrounded by bodies, his eyes black and glistening, as he drank down another.

By the time Dean pulled into the motel, he was fuming again.

He grabbed his bag and headed to the office.

"Evening," the old man at the counter said. "How can I help you?"

"I'm looking for my brother, big guy, girly hair."

"Yeah, I know the one you mean. He didn't look good."

Dean frowned. "Yeah. Can you tell me what room?"

"Thirteen, second down from the end."

"Thanks," Dean said as he headed out the door.

Sam's forehead beaded with sweat and he was shaking fully when he heard the knock at the door.

He looked up and dizzily tried to make his way over to the door. The knocks became louder, and Sam winced as they echoed in his head.

It took all his strength but he managed to make the last few steps.

"Sam, it's too late to hide the bodies now, might as well open up," Dean snapped from the other side of the door.

If Sam's mind was clearer, he would have told his brother to go screw himself, but right now, the only thing he could manage was gasping in pain.

Sam considered just sliding down the door and going to sleep right there, but the pounding wasn't likely to stop, and sooner or later Dean would get in.

Begrudgingly, Sam turned and unlocked the door, stepping back as he did.

What Dean expected to see and the sight that greeted him were two very different things.

He had expected to see Sam high as a kite, pumped on blood. He hadn't expected to see him looking near death, shaking and covered in sweat. It seemed Bobby was right. Sam was detoxing.

"Jesus, Sam!" Dean said, stepping into the room. He shut and locked the door behind him.

Dean didn't know where to start or what to do. He was still pissed at Sam, but at the same time, Bobby was right. It was an addiction like any other and sometimes people just slipped. Sam was human, and Dean forgot that sometimes.

Sam tried to walk back to the bed, but the cramps in his stomach were making every step painful. He panted in pain as he worked his way to the bed.

A particularly bad cramp hit Sam, and he buckled over onto the floor and began to retch.

Seeing that was enough to snap Dean into action and he quickly was at Sam's side. He dropped to his knees and placed a hand on Sam's back.

"Easy, Sam," Dean said, rubbing his hand up and down. "Just try to relax."

If Sam could have, he would have shot Dean a bitch face, but he just didn't have the reserves to try. Instead, he groaned and leaned into Dean's touch. It felt good.

Dean chuckled. "You're such a baby when you're sick."

"It hurts, Dean." Sam dug his nails into the threadbare carpet of the motel floor.

"Shh. Let's get you up to the bed, all right?"

Sam really didn't like that idea. He didn't like it at all. Moving hurt, and he wanted to do as little of that as possible. Sam shook his head and regretted that too a second later as the room spun.

"Come on, it will be quick. The sooner we move you the sooner I can try to help."

"There's nothing you can do."

Dean carded his fingers through Sam's hair. He could feel the fever rolling off him.

"I've got my bag and plenty of meds to knock you out."

"Can't sleep. Need to feel it, Dean."

"What are you talking about, Sam?"

"I need to feel the pain. I deserve it. I need to suffer for what I've done."

"Look, I'm going to pretend this is the fever talking and not you, so let's get you up, and I can get you some meds."

"Please, no," Sam protested feebly as Dean wrapped his arms around Sam's large frame and hoisted him up.

Dean may have been smaller, but he had just as much strength. He kept Sam in a firm grip and guided him back over to one of the beds.

He helped him lie down, and Sam immediately rolled onto his side, drawing his legs up against him.

The shakes were back with a vengeance. His whole body was vibrating.

Dean grabbed the blanket and tossed it over Sam. "Just try to relax. I'm going to get you some of the good stuff."

Dean had planned on using the tranquilizers on Sam but for different reasons. He had expected to find him high as a kite and dangerous. He had planned on a good old tackle and sedate, then dragging him back to Bobby's for detox. He hadn't planned on finding Sam already in the throes of withdrawal.

He grabbed the syringe he'd prepared earlier and walked back over to Sam who was writhing in pain.

He tugged down the back of Sam's pants and stabbed the needle into his hip.

Sam was so in pain he didn't seem to notice.

He ran recapped the needle and tossed it on the nightstand. "Go to sleep, Sammy. It'll all be better in the morning."

Dean sat back on the other bed and watched while the drugs took hold. Slowly, Sam began to settle and his breathing evened out.

Once he was sure Sam was out, he went over to the bed and looked down at him. He was a mess. His hair was plastered to his face in sweat and he was twisted in what had to be an uncomfortable position, his knees drawn tight to his chest and arms twisted around them.

Dean turned and grabbed the blanket from the other bed and laid it over Sam. Even with the tranquilizers, Dean knew it was going to be a long night if the last detox was anything to judge by.

About two hours into Dean's stay, the drugs started to fail. Sam was writhing again, eyes closed, like he was trapped in a nightmare.

Dean went to his side and put a hand on his shoulder. "Shh, Sam. I'm here. Nothing can hurt you."

Sadly, the words did nothing to calm him. He bucked against the touch and Dean stepped back to give him room.

Dean really didn't want to dose him again so soon, but he may not have much of a choice.

Suddenly, Sam pushed himself out of bed looking around wildly, but not really seeing. He mind was somewhere else. He was seeing Alastair.

"Easy there, Sammy," Alastair said as he stepped forward. "I don't want to hurt you."

Sam clenched his fists and stepped back. His eyes focused on the syringe in Alistair's hand. "You need to calm down. Let me take care of you."

Dean stepped forward, syringe in hand. It looked like he was going to be doing a tackle and sedate after all. Wherever Sam was in his mind, Dean's words weren't reaching him. They only seemed to be making him more upset.

"Come on, Sam," Dean said, walking closer. "Just breathe."

Sam gaze darted around the room. His breath was coming in gasps, and he was looking close to either passing out or charging forward to fight.

It seemed like the latter option was the one Sam was going with as he ran forward and made to tackle Dean. But Dean was ready for him and easily flipped him onto the bed. He grabbed the syringe and pulled the cap off with his teeth. He struggled with Sam as he cried out in pain and confusion. Sam managed to get an arm free and he landed a blow to Dean's face, stunning him momentarily. Sam took the free moment to push Dean off of him and run for the door.

"Sam!" Dean shouted behind him as he flew to his feet and charged after him.

Sam was still struggling with the lock when Dean sank the needle into his bicep. Sam immediately tried to buck and shake Dean off, but Dean held onto him.

"Easy, Sammy. Don't fight it, just let it help you."

A second later, Sam was beginning to waver on his feet.

"There you go." Dean wrapped an arm around Sam, holding him up. "Let's get you back to bed."

The rest of the night went better. Sam occasionally woke to fight an invisible force, but he would quickly settle back down when Dean spoke to him. Dean didn't get much sleep that night. In truth, he probably got none. Taking care of Sam took all his attention.

The sun finally began to creep in the windows and Dean yawned. He was exhausted. Sam had settled down into a calm sleep about an hour ago. It seemed the worst was over.

Dean went over to the table and got his bag. He opened it up and pulled the bottle of whiskey out. He took a long pull from the bottle and grimaced as it bit his throat.

Sam began to stir as the light beat in the room. His head was pounding and his mouth felt like it was packed with cotton.

He lifted his head wearily, trying to remember exactly where he was and how he came to be there. Slowly, the memories began to trickle in. He remembered the blood and Dean being pissed. He remembered the guilt and regret. He had let not just himself down, but Dean. He had failed again.

Sleepily, he raised a hand to his eyes and rubbed the sleep from them. He blinked looking around the room. His gaze fell on Dean, sitting at the table, staring at him, half-full bottle of whiskey in front of him.

"Hey," Sam croaked.

Dean nodded. "How you feeling?"

"Like I've been run over. When did you get here?"

"Last night. I came to talk to you and found you in the middle of withdrawals."

"Oh." Sam looked away. "About that. I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. I guess I'm weaker than you gave me credit for."

Dean shook his head and took another pull from the bottle. "You're not weak, Sam. Last night, you said some things; you said you deserved to feel the pain. That you blamed yourself."

Sam glanced up at Dean and then down at his hands. "Yeah."

Dean put the bottle down and leaned forward resting his forearms on his knees. "Now you listen to me. Yeah, you've screwed up, who hasn't. We both have done things we regret. Like yesterday. I knew leaving you like that wasn't right, but I did it anyway 'cause I was pissed. We both made mistakes. But no matter what happens, you don't deserve that kind of pain. Ever."

Sam looked up at him and swallowed. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"So are we good?" Dean asked, sitting back upright.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, we're good."

* * *

**AN: So what did you think? Good, bad, indifferent?  
**


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